


Siren's Song

by queenofthorns



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Plot - Good pacing, War of the Ring, Writing - Engaging style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthorns/pseuds/queenofthorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ring speaks to Boromir in many voices.  (From the movieverse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren's Song

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).
> 
> Note from QoT: These aren't my tags (but I do appreciate the compliments in them :D)

In Rivendell, it murmurs to him with a voice as warm as gold.

The bright surface of the Ring shows Boromir the banner of the White Tree, lifted high above the ruined domes of Osgiliath. His father's words come easily to his lips.

"By the blood of _our_ people," he says, "are your lands kept safe."

There are none of his countrymen here, and though Men of the South may be welcome in Rivendell, their counsel plainly is not. Boromir wishes that he had his father's eloquence or his brother's learning, for he sees in the sharp blue eyes of the Ranger that his own blunt speech is not enough.

"The Ring is altogether evil." For all Mithrandir's great power and Lord Elrond's great wisdom, Boromir thinks they must be mistaken. Nothing so fair can be wholly malign and it grieves him to think of this beauty destroyed.

Yet that is the will of the Council.

***

On Caradhras, it sings to him with a voice as clear as silver.

He holds the Ring up to the light. Within its shining circle, he sees his father and his brother together in a garden canopied by the tender green leaves of early spring. They are deep in conversation. His father moves more slowly than Boromir remembers, leaning on Faramir for support. The sun glances off the golden band on Denethor's forefinger and off the silver tree embroidered on Faramir's tunic. When another figure enters the garden, gleaming in white armor, they raise their heads and their faces are lit by the same smile.

"Boromir," Aragorn says. "Give the Ring to Frodo." His eyes are the pitiless blue of the sky above the mountain.

"As you wish," Boromir forces himself to say. "I care not!" The lie does not come easily to him.

As they make their way up the pass of Caradhras, he tries to hold the shape of the Ring's song in his head, but it is torn away from him by the shrieking wind and the crack of lightning.

***

In Lothlorien, the Lady's words drown out its voice.

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," she says. She looks into Boromir's eyes and he feels that blade lay bare his secret heart, robbing him of peace, tricking him with the promise of hope. She shows him a city sacked, the White Tower overthrown, his father swallowed up in madness and his brother cut down before him. Then, a heartbeat later, he sees a field bright with banners, and the coronation of a King, his Steward stalwart at his side. Galadriel does not tell Boromir which path leads to which end.

"Take some rest," Aragorn says. "These borders are well-guarded." His voice is gentle and his eyes are kind.

Perhaps Boromir can tell this man how the Ring sings to him by starlight and by sunlight. Perhaps if he speaks now, the shadows will not overtake his soul.

Boromir struggles to give a name to his fears but the words die stillborn on his lips. He takes refuge in memories of his home.

"I have seen the White City." Aragorn says, and falls silent.

***

On the banks of the Anduin, it trumpets a fanfare with a voice of bronze.

In the dark water, he sees a vision of Aragorn riding a white charger to the Black Gate. He sees himself bearing the banner of kings by the side of his King. The forces of Sauron cannot stand against the might of Gondor and the strength of Rohan. When they return victorious to Minas Tirith, the women throw flowers at the feet of their horses. Denethor kneels to kiss the hand of his ruler and Aragorn raises him to his feet with noble courtesy. The King embraces Faramir as a brother, for Boromir's sake, but soon it will be for his own.

Ripples break the surface of the river and he sees a log float by, guided by feet paddling swift against the current.

"I would not take the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn says, his eyes dark with anger. His words are poisoned darts in Boromir's breast.

***

Beneath Amon Hen, it tolls an alarm with a voice of iron.

In the shifting leaves, he sees battering rams crash through the gates of Minas Tirith and soldiers flee in terror as trolls pull down the statues of the kings. The air is black with smoke, rent by the shrieks of the Nazgul perched on the spike of Ecthelion's tower. His father burns, his brother burns, his city burns. No aid will come for Gondor, because Boromir has thrown away her hope. Middle Earth belongs now to Sauron alone.

"It could have been mine," Boromir says. "It _should_ have been mine."

***

Under the clash of swords and the cries of the hobbits, under the hiss of arrows and the rasp of his own labored breaths, Boromir hears it muttering. Though the words are in the harsh black speech of Mordor, he knows what it says, for his own heart says the same. _Forsworn_ , it calls him. _Oathbreaker._ He has betrayed Frodo and the Fellowship. He has failed Merry and Pippin. The world will go down into darkness because of what he has done.

"Forgive me," he whispers to his King. "I did not see."

"I will not let the White City fall," Aragorn says. "Nor our people fail."

And now, at last, the Ring is silent.


End file.
